


The Sentinel

by mercurysensei



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurysensei/pseuds/mercurysensei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Echizen Ryoma comes to Seishun High School, neither he nor anyone else on the tennis circuit will be the same. Sentinel/Guide fic. Ensemble piece. The plot will follow the course of the Prince of Tennis story and gain more characters as it goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

0.

Ryuuzaki Sakuno did not remember much about her parents, but she could recall all of the stories that her grandmother told about them as if they were her own memories.

Her parents met later in life and that was highly unusual. Typically, Sentinels could not function so long without Guides. Her mother, Kana, had been a Sentinel, and a talented architect. The ability to extend her senses, to feel beyond the normal limits of the human body, lent itself well to her work. Sumire’s eyes always shone when she described her late daughter, and she would briefly forget that she was telling a story. Sakuno was always both sad and happy when she remembered again. Even then, she had enough ability to feel her grandmother’s bittersweet memory.

Sumire would continue with Sakuno’s father. In Kana’s new assignment to design a new school, she met her Guide, a schoolteacher named Taro. On smell, she knew right away that he was to be hers. Though Sentinels and Guides could mate otherwise, a soul deep compatibility was a thing to be cherished. After they bonded, the Sentinel’s talents only grew. She could focus fully, reach out as far as she possibly could, without fear of zoning, or becoming lost in sensation. **  
**

Sadly, her grandmother reported, things had been much more difficult on Taro. Once a Guide has found their Sentinel, they will devote their full empathic strength to their partner’s senses, feeling the world through them and their powerful experiences. When his Sentinel created something beautiful, he too felt her emotional experience to the sensation. Her sharp ears chased the echoes of school children, the thump thump of students running in the ground. To be by her side, to feel vividly all of the colors that she saw, Taro gladly gave up his job to devote himself to her success, and then to their family.

Guides deferring to their Sentinels had always been the tradition in recent memory. The world was there for the Sentinels and the Guides were just there to help them through it. Sumire frowned; that was the too powerful opinion of her lifetime, she always told her granddaughter. Despite recent legislation for the rights of Guides, the status quo remained in the minds of her generation, and in the minds of those to whom they passed that attitude. Paper was only worth how people respected it.

When Sakuno awakened as a Guide, the limits on what her grandmother could convey through stories became clear. As a Sentinel, she could only teach Sakuno about Guides in relation to her own status, and, considering that she had never found her Guide, she did not know much to help her granddaughter. Fortunately, the school, Seishun Gakuen, knew plenty.

 

1.

Sakuno hadn't minded taking the train before her awakening. Since she came into her empathic powers as a Guide, however, being in such close quarters with non-guides was overwhelming; they did not have the ability to shield themselves, and Sakuno did not yet have the ability to shield herself from them. Emotions, feelings, second degree sensations, bombarded her from all around. She truly hoped to begin her training soon. The elderly woman next to her was thinking about her husband, her shopping list, her grandchildren. These thoughts announced to Sakuno more clearly than the bus driver shouting the stops. Shouting the stops between thoughts of pornography. Sakuno flushed deeply and struggled to back away from the driver’s emotions, until her thoughts were pulled away by a Sentinel. The visceral experiences of a sentinel could hone her empathy to one place, but it was overwhelming in an entirely different, excruciating way. His thoughts, feelings, were like grease that she could not get off her skin. He saw the world in flashes of vibrant color, terrible noise, but he saw himself as the only one who mattered in it. An unintentional peek into his mind told Sakuno his name.

"Fools, don't you know your own grip?" Sasabe goaded as he swung his racket, showing off for his friends. He broadcasted arrogance. "...Western grip...It's done by holding the racket like you're about to shake someone's hand," he demonstrated again, and again.

She flinched; a tennis racket sung by, barely missing the tip of her nose. Sasabe's thoughts grew louder in her head with each swing. They were too powerful to ignore. Despite herself, she leaned back with a desperate noise.

"Wrong." The one word silenced the train. For a moment, Sakuno thought it had been spoken aloud. For a moment she was deaf to everything except that voice, which gave way to the surface scene. She couldn't feel anything from anyone, but she could hear Sasabe's friends praising his advice. Eyes darting back and forth, she looked around for the source of powerful projection.

Just as Sasabe prepared the swing the racket again, she heard the voice for real.

"Hey, you guys are too loud." The words came from a boy, about her age by the look of him. Sakuno hadn't even noticed him on the train. She hadn't felt his presence at all. And now that he was making that presence known, it was impossible to feel anything else. He silenced the traincar just as effectively as he had silenced her empathetic mind.

Before the stunned Sasabe could even begin to articulate a comeback, the train came to a halt and jarred the racket from his hand. The clatter, doubtlessly echoing through the sentinel's head, seemed to give him words. "Ha," he tried to laugh it off. "I can't believe I just got told off my a grade schooler." His friends never got the opportunity to laugh with him rather than at him.

"Pin pon. Taking a racket from the ground. That's the correct western grip. The handshake you were talking about earlier is the Eastern grip. There are some who mix them up," his tone suggested how he felt about those that did. The train stopped at the university. The boy stood up, haughtily showing them his back and walked out of the train without acknowledging the college men cussing him out. For a moment, Sakuno thought she saw a fluffy himalayan cat bounding after them. But that was silly. Cats didn’t ride trains.

The din of the traincar’s emotions returned, and Sakuno wondered after the silent Sentinel. Even bonded Sentinels, partially shielded by their Guides, created emotional noise.

“Sougonokoen, sougonokoen,” the driver announced.

“Ah!” Sakuno stood up with realization, the tips of her ears going red when people turned toward the sound. Shame faced, she made her way to the opposite side of the platform. She had missed her stop, and was going to be very, very late for the tennis tournament.

2.

Loud. Seigaku was loud. The bell assaulted Ryoma’s ears as he passed the high entrance gate. Fellow new students walking behind him, also loud. Hot wind pushing into his face like an abusive sauna, throwing soft, dead cherry blossoms into his face. They were more annoying than beautiful. At least in Los Angeles they never forced him to wear a long sleeve uniform, not that he could complain of the uniform’s make. The garment accommodated the oversensitivity of a Sentinel. Still, the little nub of the required “五感” five senses pin, grated on his chest.

It was all unfamiliar. Ryoma walked in the same direction as taller students with tennis bags in the distance, headed toward the tell tale little thump of a tennis ball’s impact. Without meaning to, he extended his senses too far. Pulling back, he sought to avoid committing his focus to the sound, but the mistake had been made. He walked straight into a junior. The shock reverberated through his nerves, pulsing intensely against his skin as his enhanced sensations collected information about the other.

Tall. Solid. Salmon rice ball. Soft, sentinel grade uniform.

Then, like a wall shoving up against him, he felt the rough extension of the other Sentinel. Echizen’s sharp eyes snapped up to push back, claiming his personal zone. The other Sentinel backed off with no further force. The violet of his eyes made Ryoma’s head want to spin, but he locked eye contact with him anyway.

The other Sentinel looked exactly the same way his mother did when she scolded Karupin for getting tangled up in her yarn. Mildly amused. Echizen rankled and threw his presence at him again in warning. **  
**

“Oi oi,” the junior sing songed, his energy rising to give Ryoma an idea of what he was messing with. “You should look forward when you walk, forward. But you’re freshman, so I’ll forgive you this time, ne.”

A hand clamped down on his shoulder roughly, freezing Echizen to the spot. “Echizen!” the loud interrupter spoke, diverting Echizen’s unwilling attention. He smelled like new sneakers and bad hair gel, and had a voice like nails on a chalkboard. “I’m Horio. We’re in the same class! You’ve got a tennis bag? I’m joining the tennis club as well. I have two years of experience, so being a regular is no dream for me…” boring. **  
**

By the time he was able to unfocus from Horio, the older Sentinel had walked away. Mada mada dane.

“...Maybe I’ll even be able to get a point off of Captain Tezuka!” Horio had not stopped talking. “You think you’re gonna join, Echizen? Katsuo, Kachiro, and I are definitely gonna go today if you want to come -- eh? Where are you going!”

The other two freshman in question caught up to Horio just in time to see Echizen walk away.

“Who was that, Horio-kun?” Kachiro asked. A crazy amount of power emanated from that encounter, drawing Kachiro’s empathic attention. Their clashing minds had been loud enough for Guides all around the school to hear.

The fight, however, wasn’t at all strange. It was just like Sentinels to have a completely needless territorial clash. The walking away, and the stark, stark silence of the small Sentinel’s mind afterward...now that had been off putting. For a Guide, not being able to read a Sentinel was like walking around blind. Reflexively, Kachiro adjusted his gloves, a required part of the Seigaku uniform for Guides. They protected him from any accidental bonding. Not that he had to worry about that with Horio.

As if it were hard gleaned knowledge, Horio stated, “That was Echizen, he’s in our class. I invited him to come to the tennis courts with us. He seemed a little shy to go himself. With my two years of tennis experience, I’m so at home on the tennis courts --”

“What’s that!” Katsuo pointed to a fluffy, Himalayan cat flopped on a bench. “That cat has a weird sort of….I don’t know. It just looks…”

“It’s just a cat, Katsuo,” Horio sighed, not pleased to be cut off over a cat.

Kachiro shook his head. That was impossible. But here it was, and both Katsuo and Horio could see it?! “That’s not a cat. It’s….a spirit animal. Everyone has one...b-but….Normal people aren’t supposed to be able to see it. No one is supposed to see it!” he spoke with horror. “No one except that person’s true match.”

The cat, unconcerned that its presence was utterly inappropriate, licked his paws.

“I….” Horio’s mouth dropped wide open and he pointed to himself. “I’M A TRUE MATCH OF A SPIRIT CAT!”

The cat mewed. Kachiro and Katsu sighed.

“That’s not how it works, Horio-kun,” Kachiro explained. There was no doubt that the cat belonged to Echizen. Spirit animals were supposed to be private. It was wrong to see it, and he wanted to feel wrong about the vision, but the cat had an oddly comforting presence. The contented cat drew the attention of his empathetic mind, allowing him to voice his own thoughts instead of trying to sort through the barrage of people’s feelings coming his way. He didn’t want to feel empowered by this spirit animal that everyone could see, but he took the opportunity anyway. “Let’s just go to the courts.”

Horio seemed to find his stride again, and went on divulging everything he knew, true or false, regarding the Seigaku High School Tennis team. Unfortunately, they would not be able to confirm or disprove any of Horio’s information today.

“The regulars have a practice match,” the second year Sentinel drawled. The name ‘Arai’ was stitched into his uniform. “But you can practice with us. Your senpai have a good game that’ll teach you a thing or two about tennis.” Arai grinned and his classmates chuckled behind them.

Kachiro had a bad feeling about this, but he didn’t dare reach into their mind’s while untrained. Surely, a second year student would have some kind of barrier.

3.

“Hey, hey!” Sakuno went rigid with shock as a hand touched gently landed on her shoulder. The tip of Shiba’s bare finger caught Sakuno’s neck. It was accidental, but the touch sucked her mind from her body and into that of - **  
**

New reporter. Six months. Shiba Saori. Not married. Monthly Pro Tennis. Looking for court. Lost. Unrequited crush on her senpai, Inoue. Inoue with his intense eyes and incredible passion for young tennis players-- Sakuno flushed from her ears down. Shiba withdrew her touch quickly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she bowed lowly. “I forgot, Sentinels here.”

Ryuuzaki shook her head; there was no harm done. If Shiba had been a Sentinel touching the untrained Ryuuzaki, that could have been a different story.

“Who are you?” Tomoko stood defensively in front of her gloved friend. Sakuno, still half trapped in the daze of Shiba’s thoughts, already knew who she was and what she came for, but it was probably more polite to let Shiba introduce herself.

“Shiba Saori, I’m with Monthly Pro Tennis. I overheard that you’re on your way to the tennis court. If you could tell me where it is…” folding her hands together, Shiba grinned hopefully.

“Oi, Shiba! Did you get the report?” a man rushed toward them, pen and notepad in hand.

Sakuno went tomato red at the sight of Inoue, the subject of Shiba’s fancy, and stood closer to Tomoko, who read her message loud and clear. Looping her clothed arm with Sakuno’s, she all but dragged her away. “Creeps,” Tomo murmured, and looked over her shoulder. The creepy reporters were following them, but at a comfortable enough distance.

“Mm…” Sakuno noised in agreement. The knowledge that they would stop at the men’s courts helped; she hardly expected to stop as well. An odd, comforting sort of silence washed over her. She did not hear the usual stream of Tomoko’s tumultuous thoughts and feelings. “Eh….from before?” she looked, and felt around for the presence. Her world froze to a halt. A spirit animal. She had seen that spirit animal before. That could mean only one thing. For once, Sakuno’s own emotions overwhelmed her!

“From before...what are you talking about…?” Tomoko followed Sakuno’s gaze to a cat. “Oh, the cat? Whose cat?”

Sakuno straightened up in alarm. “YOU CAN SEE IT?!”

“Of course I can see it,” Tomoko gave her a weird look.  “Oh...there’s something going on over there,” sure enough, there was yelling coming from the boys court. Sakuno even recognized three of the boys from her class, and one of them...one of them…

The one from the train, leaning casually against the fence as if he hadn’t just upended all of...well..everything! What kind of terrible Sentinel was he that everyone could see his spirit animal? Anger bubbled under the surface. Could that be her true match, showing his spirit animal to everyone?! Propelled by the indignity, Sakuno started forward -- and stopped.

But could she? Should she really speak up? Indecision warred with affront.

Tomoko’s hand seized her arm. The other girl was dragging her over to the courts! “Let’s see what’s going on over there!”

As they approached, Horio screamed, “You can’t even hit that in 100 tries!”

And then, incredibly, he hit it. Sakuno felt everyone’s spirits hit the ceiling, only to sink down again when the canister only rattled. Odd, so they were trying to hit it? Curiosity overpowered her previous outrage.

“Too bad,” one of the senpai’s said with a smirk.

“That was hard after all,” Horio agreed.

“Ah, well,” Katsuo seemed unconcerned about the loss. He and the other two first years withdrew two hundred yen each from their pockets, earning laughter from the senpai.

“You guys must have misunderstood. The entry fee is two hundred yen, but each ball is five hundred yen…” the second year turned the cannister around to reveal the rules. “You ten balls, so that’s 5,200 yen each.”

The three boys stepped back. “What! That’s so unfair.”

“That’s totally dirty!” Tomoko shouted and grasped the fence. Sakuno sighed at the ferocity of her emotion. Of course Tomo would be into it.

Arai laughed. “You should blame your shitty skills, not the rules,” he looked over to Ryoma. “Oi, Chibi. You should play too.”

“Sure, whatever,” Echizen said, and stretched his arms out lazily. He leisurely fetched his racket from his bag, as if he were under no pressure whatsoever. Despite herself, Sakuno felt worried for the odd Sentinel. No matter how she reached her mind out, she came up with nothing. “You can’t knock it down by hitting it directly,” he continued, after what seemed like an eternity. “It’s filled with rocks, isn’t it?”

To answer the rhetorical question, the ball reached out from Ryoma’s racket to lop the cannister soundly on the lid. Rocks spilled out from it.

“Amazing! How can he have that kind of accuracy!” Katsuo commented.

“They were cheating after all!” Horio accused, getting himself closer to an argument with the second year.

But Ryoma didn’t stop there. He hit the cannister with ball after ball, slamming home the point that he outclassed this game in every way. “If I hit it 100 times, will you give me a million yen?” he hit it again. **  
**

Arai’s aura roared in anger and shoved itself out against Ryoma’s. “How can you speak that way to a second year?!”

Ryoma refused submission. “Just because you were born a year earlier doesn’t mean you can pull shit like this. It’s embarrassing.”

“You bastard --”

The whizz of a tennis ball caught Ryoma’s ears. Arai wasn’t enough of a threat to keep his full attention. The ball had been hit fast, hard, and met its intended target with full force. Crunch, ping, ping, ping, Ryoma’s eyes followed the angle of the ball, the sound of breathing, and a powerful presence barely contained.

“Oh, I hit the can! Lucky!” It was the same senpai from before. Ryoma closed his eyes. Vibrant eyes, strong senpai, weak shields. “Hey, Arai. You shouldn’t be bullying the first years, just because the upperclassmen aren’t here. And you won’t.”

Arai seemed to know his place against the other Sentinel. “Momo...something came up, I gotta go,” he was quick to vacate the court.

Boring -- Ryoma decided. He started to walk away, but Momo’s aura pulsed to demand otherwise.

“Who said you could go?” Momo grinned. “We’re gonna have a match.”

“Who are you?” Ryoma asked bluntly, not letting Momo’s aura get a rise out of him yet.

The attitude only seemed to please the second year. “Momoshiro Takeshi, sophomore, but Momo’s fine. You?”

“Echizen Ryoma.”

“Heeeeeh, that’s you? You’re smaller than I thought.” Ryoma lashed out against that, throwing his influence at Momo, who seemed completely unphased. “I heard from Ryuuzaki-sensei that you can do a twist serve.”

“What about it?” the direction of this conversation was starting to get interesting. He let his spirits rise to the challenge that was obviously coming.

“I’m gonna crush you,” Momo said casually, gaze narrowing seriously as he tossed Echizen a tennis ball. “I’ll keep this side of the court. Show me that serve of yours.”

Ryoma walked slowly to the other side of the court and took the opportunity to extend his hearing. The shift of Momo’s stride was off. It had been off before. He favored his left side, though he was right handed? Why? Momo had superiority over Arai, and he could hit the cannister (an easy target in Ryoma’s opinion), which led Ryoma to the conclusion that he was a regular. Why would a regular be left behind for a match?

Injury, left foot. He could walk without crutches, so only a sprain.

Boring. The junior’s presence had been interesting too. He would just have to play with his right hand.

“This game is looking to be really exciting” Tomoko exclaimed, just as Ryoma drew his hearing back.

Ryoma, Sakuno thought; the presence of the two Sentinels allowed her relative silence, although they seemed to be screaming at each other. His name is Ryoma, she thought about the cat. What had that meant?

Sakuno watched the match intently. Her spirit sang with the flight of Ryoma’s tennis ball. She felt Ryoma’s thrill when Momo managed to return the ball. Blood seemed to thrum against her skin, everything felt right...except for the fact that a look in Kachiro’s direction showed that the other Guide felt exactly the same way.

But how could that be true?

The presence of her most familiar Sentinel nudged her mind away from reading Ryoma’s spirit. “Grandma...who is that?” she asked.

“The Prince of Tennis,” Ryuuzaki Sumire answered with a wink.

With her grandmother present, Sakuno’s was able to focus aside from Ryoma. For the first time, she noticed the pain through Momo’s elation at a worthy opponent. “Grandma…”

“It’s okay,” Sumire assured her. “They know. The match will end soon.”

  
“Eh? What do you mean the match will…”

“I forfeit!” Momo announced easily, as if he hadn’t been invested in the match at all. “I’ll just let you go, this time.”

Ryoma drew himself back, becoming silent once again. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

And it didn’t matter, not really. There would be a next time.

4.

The practice matches hadn’t changed anything for Tezuka. There had been no challenge, nothing to make him reconsider the blocks he considered for weeks. Taking up a pen in his gloved hand, he stared at the blank ranking match draft.

Flap, flap, a tall, red crowned crane flapped its wings elegantly and stood on one of the desks.

“Mmmrrw,” the cat puffed up it’s furr and leapt onto the desk, just in time for the crane to hop to a different one.

Tezuka inhaled and exhaled, staring at the paper in attempt to ignore the spirit animals’ odd behavior.

The crane flapped again, ducking up and down in an elaborate, natural dance. For a moment, the Himalayan cat seemed to echo it, going up and down on its forepaws, until it tried to leap again at the same desk. “MREOWW!”

“Be quiet,” Tezuka ordered.

Tezuka’s crane gave a little whoop and settled on the desk. The cat, however, gave a purr and saw fit to sprawl over Tezuka’s feet.

With a long suffering sigh, Tezuka struggled to not sink into the soothing, directing presence the cat carried, even though it would allow him to concentrate. He knew what this could mean, and he dreaded the implication.

**  
** It was time to start taking suppressants again.


	2. Chapter 2

When Echizen returned to the tennis court the next day to register for the club, he was disappointed again. Only the other freshmen and the annoying juniors from yesterday had arrived so far. Resigned, he set down his bag next to the others and started toward his classmates, who were struggling to get the net up.

Seriously, mada mada dane.

Echizen halted his steps just in time to avoid another collision like yesterday’s. A senpai stood in front of him, blocking the way; Ryoma blinked up at him. It was pretty convenient to have a taller person blocking out the sun, but he could do without the venomous glaring. Ryoma stayed silent, muffling his presence because he just couldn’t be bothered with this senpai who even smelled boring.

“Are you that freshman, Echizen Ryoma?”

Flat faced, Echizen said, “Ichigo Tomato? Dunno him.”

“Listen with your damn ears, freshman. Are you a Sentinel or not?” the senior growled, but then seemed to remember himself. “I’m looking for the incredible freshman that everyone’s talking about.”

“Incredible freshman...huh…” he barely had to extend his hearing to notice Horio dispersing wisdom from his two years of tennis experience. “That guy,” Ryoma pointed. It was fair play, considering that Horio had nearly zoned him out yesterday.

The senior nodded. “Of course, with his flashy uniform, that would be the one. Thanks.”

Echizen dropped his chin in an informal bow and went about putting up the farthest possible net. If he so desired, he could simply extend his hearing to listen in on the confrontation. Only a weak Sentinel would need a Guide for such a thing. But Ryoma had a feeling that he would be hearing far more than he wanted to from this boring senpai. Opportunely enjoying the silence (or rather, the silence occasionally interrupted by Horio’s indignant protesting) was the best option.

At least Ryoma had thought so. Boring senpai, face bent with anger, was stomping clumsily his way. Ryoma considered pointing out that he was making the clay tremble beneath their feet. With hands bigger than Ryoma’s face, boring senpai fisted Ryoma’s shirt and dragged him up to meet his glare. “You think you can make a fool out of me, freshman?!”

Ryoma refrained from pointing out that he already had done so. He remained limp and continued to shield his presence, but just barely. It thrummed against his skull, threatening to cause a headache. The obvious challenge had Ryoma itching to beat this boring person into submission.

“Look! The regulars are here!” Echizen heard Horio say. The boring senpai looked too shocked to move as the jump suited regulars made their dramatic entrance. Attention diverted from his current state by the unified step that made the entrants seem like a boy band, Echizen couldn’t help but observe everything his senses told him.

Closely shaven hair, two front pieces -- particular. No gloves, but Ryoma felt the brush of this senpai’s mind over his shield. An instinctive, experienced move to calm his surroundings, not a mental probe. Bonded then. Smells of toothpaste, tea, and vaguely fish food. Bonded happily. The brightness of the bonding ring on his finger --

Matched the redhead’s Sentinel ring. Similar scent, more powerfully of toothpaste, also dirt and peroxide. Recent fall. Was the result covered by the bandaid on his cheek? Ryoma averted his gaze before the jumpy Sentinel could focus on him more.

The Guide next to him was gloved. Brown hair, seriously weird smile -- boring.

Ryoma’s senses jerked back from their observation of his Guide. He was almost forced to stare at the big Sentinel with sideburns next to him. Had the Guide diverted his senses? Ryoma tried to look again at the brown haired Guide…but there was an interesting guy in a bandana right next to him. Not a Sentinel or a Guide. The weird noise he made, almost like a snake, caught Ryoma off guard. He overfocused, closing his eyes and shutting off his other senses to replay the sound over and over. He caught it again.

Fsssshhh, ffssshhhh, ffssshhh….murmured voices that Ryoma couldn’t make out. Heavy footsteps coming closer, then going past. Cars. Camera clicks. Raised voices. Fsssshhhh…

Sudden, sharp impact. His knees thrummed from the shock, and the pain snapped Ryoma out of his minor zone. Disoriented, he opened his eyes to try and organize the sensations. He might have been immediately overwhelmed if not for the gentle touch on his shoulder, a thumb just slightly touching his bared skin.

Clarity came. He was on the ground in the middle of the court with the green-eyed, bonded Guide touching him. His first practice and he had to be guided from a zone. At least it hadn’t looked like that to most of the outside. Ryoma looked down at his knees to let his hat cover his face. From this proximity, Ryoma smelled peroxide on the Guide too.

“Are you okay, freshman?” Oishi was alarmed that he hadn’t been able to pull so much as a name from Ryoma. His touch, with the shock of his fall, had been enough to pull him out of the zone. “I’m Vice-Captain Oishi.”

Ryoma nodded, but Oishi wasn’t looking at him anymore. He looked over Ryoma’s shoulder to eye up the second year who dropped him in the first place.

“Freshmen!” Momo called, bounding into the courts after the boy band regulars. “Come on, follow me to the tables to register.”

Ryoma was quick to follow the other freshmen in obeying Momoshiro while Oishi assigned laps to the unruly second year. It served boring senpai right.

6.

Practice was well under way by the time all of the freshman signed up and received name stickers to put on their cubbies. As such, the clubhouse was conveniently vacant. Scouring the lowest shelf for the least objectionable square might have been embarrassing for some of the freshman otherwise.

Ryoma didn’t care. Under the guise of spending an inordinate amount of time restringing his shoes, he sat on the bench and let himself get accustomed to the barrage of scents in the clubhouse.

“Did you see the regulars hitting? It was incredible, how they got it in the basket every time,” Katsuo applied his name to the cubby, cleared out the old, dusty racket that occupied it and unloaded a few things of his own. “Do you think we’re gonna be able to do that one day?”

“I think it’ll be harder on some people than others. Take me, for example, with my two years of tennis experience, I’ll probably be hitting balls like that pretty soon. They may even invite me to take part in ranking matches. They’re the pride of Seigaku, you know, how the regulars stay tough,” Horio gloated, and continued his soliloquy while Kachiro snuck glances at Ryoma. Kachiro wondered if Ryoma would be able to hit the balls into the baskets, like their senpai. His curiosity was strong enough to accidentally hurl the blunt force of his empathetic mind at Ryoma.

Golden eyes flicked up at him.

“AHH!” Kachiro started, and fell back from his heels onto his bottom. Ryoma’s shield had done more to him than that, mentally.

“Oi, Kachiro, what?” Horio followed the first year’s gaze to Ryoma. “Ah! Echizen! That’s Arai-senpai’s jersey!”

“Hm?” Ryoma shifted in his seat, lingering purposefully to leave a scent on the jacket underneath his butt. “Whatever, he left it there. Not my problem.”

Leaving Horio’s mouth dropped open to catch flies, Ryoma left the clubhouse. After all, he still had the hope of actually getting to play tennis instead of chasing out balls all afternoon.

“Seriously, that guy! Sittin’ on Arai-senpai’s jersey like he owns the -- Ack!” Horio flinched. There was a racket under his feet. “....Whose...racket?” he closed his eyes and pointed under his own feet.

Katsuo frowned and inspected the old racket under Horio’s shoes. “I don’t think that’s anyone’s. I found it in one of the available cubbies.”

Horio visibly relaxed. “Let’s just go guys, before anything gets broken.”

Unfortunately, they were not able to escape the wrath of Arai, who caught them just on the way out of the clubhouse. “Watch where you’re going, damn monkey freshmen!” the junior yelled after the sprinting freshmen. “You better run!” Arai growled and stomped, leading the junior’s into the clubhouse for break. The barrage of new scents and new people had him irritated, especially when they just didn’t seem to respect their damn place.

“Who...the fuck...touched my jersey!” Arai yelled, freezing the blood of all the juniors in the small room. The lines in his face drew the difference between his usual moodiness and true, roiling anger.

“I dunno…” rippled through the blue jerseys as they got out of Arai’s way. No intelligent person stood in the path of an angry Sentinel.

From the sign up booth, Inui pushed his glasses up his nose. “Iie, data. Probability of Arai-kun running laps, 97.6%.” A few prospective freshman recruits snuck away from the table.

7.

Ryoma frowned and looked along the fence again. It wasn’t uncommon for him to misplace things, but he definitely remembered leaving his bag here. For a moment he wondered if he left it in the clubhouse, but no, he hadn’t even brought it there in the first place. As Horio, Kachiro, and Katsuo took out their rackets for swing practice, Ryoma continued to search with no luck.

“Echizen, you better start your swings, I heard one of the regulars say that Tezuka-buchou is gonna come by,” Horio warned, voice beaten with exertion.

Ryoma’s ears perked at a sound that had nothing to do with tennis. He followed the sound to a corner of the tennis grounds, where Arai-senpai and boring senpai were snickering. Their approach suggested the obvious to Ryoma. The open antagonism of Arai’s presence made the obvious downright obnoxious. With a shit eating grin, Arai threw down the gauntlet, “You know, Echizen, I’d like to see that twist serve in a match. First years aren’t supposed to be playing quite yet...but that can be overlooked on the first day.” Tapping racket against his shoulder, Arai sauntered to the other side of the net and sneered at Ryoma while boring senpai tittered. “Oh, no racket? Don’t worry. Yasuda here will loan you one of the club rackets.”

Ryoma caught the dusty racket that boring senpai, Yasuda, threw his way.

“ --And if you win, hey, your rackets juuuuust might reappear.”

Eyes narrowing, Ryoma took the racket in his right hand and fingered the gut. Eyes followed him as he took his place opposite Arai. It was almost thrilling to be the subject of so much animosity, but Ryoma quieted his strength forcibly. This was not like the match against Momoshiro. Arai’s serve made that even more apparent. Despite the other Sentinel’s enhanced strength, the ball moved in slow motion to Ryoma’s keen eyes.

Not that the ball would be hit so easily, not with this racket. The gut made an awful noise, sending the either ball straight into the ground to deflate or well over the metal gate.

“Not looking quite so tough as you were yesterday, huh Echizen,” Arai burned with anger at the freshman that dared to impress his scent into Arai’s own jersey. It was an insult he simply couldn’t abide, not even in full view of the regulars, who had ceased their practice entirely to watch.

While Arai dialogued like a movie villain, Ryoma examined the gut of the racket again, smacking his fingers against it to judge the movement of the strings. The racket might have a croaky voice, but somewhere, Ryoma knew, it must remember how to sing. “I hear you,” Ryoma’s lips quirked up. He felt a sweet spot. Arai wanted to seriously doubt it.

Ryoma tossed the ball up in the air and jumped after it. His body arched and the racket sung, sending the ball across the net to spin on the ground before the other Sentinel. Arai stood frozen as the ball blew by his ear and twisted into the fence. He felt very much like he had just dodged a bullet.

“A skilled calligrapher doesn’t have to choose his brushes,” Ryoma heard the brown haired Guide say. He thought to turn to get a look at him, but his attention was brought back to Arai as if someone grabbed his chin and spun it round. But it didn’t stay there long, not with the footsteps of some enticing smell coming near. Ryoma never thought smells had footsteps before now.

“Tezuka-buchou!” Horio blurted out.

Tezuka stared at Ryoma, then put his eyes on the rest of the team. “Thirty laps for everyone.”

“The regulars too?” Oishi caught up with Tezuka to ask.

“Everyone,” Tezuka repeated and walked by Ryoma without looking again. The captain started a lap himself, expecting to be followed. And he was.

Tipping his hat down, Ryoma smirked. “Mada mada dane,” he said to himself, and ran to catch up.


	3. Chapter 3

8.

When Echizen’s name was organized into the ranking matches, only the people who did not know Tezuka very well were surprised. Comments burned through the school like wildfire until everyone knew that either the tennis team had become desperate, or the freshman was just that good. Tezuka bore these inquisitions with his usual equanimity

When Ryoma showed up to the third year english class, those whispers grew into a dull roar. The teacher ushered Ryoma up to the front of the classroom and pushed him slightly forward. The first year appeared more long suffering than nervous.

The teacher explained in Japanese. “This is Echizen-kun. He came from America to join us for his first year of high school. He will be assisting our conversation practice. Echizen, please introduce yourself.”

Looking faintly annoyed at having to basically repeat everything the teacher already said, Ryoma said in English. “Hi, I’m Ryoma. My class is 1-A. Nice to meet you,” though his tone suggested that it wasn’t particularly nice meeting any of them. As astonishment over his accent rippled through the room, Ryoma found the eyes of silent Tezuka. The line of the captain’s mouth was almost frowning. The freshman frowned right back at him; something was not right.

“Excellent, thank you!” the english teacher continued in Japanese. “Let’s start our warm up exercises. Speed dating! Turn your desks inward to face each other...yes, Echizen, take this empty one at the front, Suzuki is absent today.”

Ryoma stared boredly at the anxiously fidgeting third year girl across from him. Why had he agreed to this again?

“Now, you’ll speak together in english for a minute. Then, the left side will stand and move down to the next partner,” the teacher held up his stopwatch. In english, he counted, “One...two...three...START!”

Blinking, Ryoma remained silent, staring at the girl in front of him.

“Ano….” she shifted in her seat again, arranging her skirt, before speaking quietly. “My name is Yamaguchi. How are you?”

Since he already introduced himself in front of the class, Ryoma felt no need to repeat it. “Fine, thanks. Do you like tennis?”

The girl took a moment to follow his question, more for its incongruence than its grammatical trappings. “Ano...I am not good tennis.”

True. Ryoma couldn’t find fault with the sentence.

Sideburn senpai moved into the seat across from him.

“...Hi,” Ryoma started.

Sideburn senpai scratched his head to pretend that he wasn’t flustered by sitting with Echizen. Ryoma didn’t understand why this Sentinel was so timid. He had a very confusing presence.

The small brown haired guide that Ryoma noticed -- didn’t notice -- at practice cut in, “Taka-san, you forgot your ruler at my desk.”

“Ah...ah, thank you, Fuji,” Taka-san smiled for a moment, but then his character darkened and amplified. Taka gathered his fists and slammed them onto the table before the wide-eyed Echizen. “YES! OH BABY! ASK ME DATE-O QUESTION!!!”

When Ryoma recovered from the assault on his ears, he asked, “Do you like tennis?”

“TENNIS BURNING!!!!”

Ryoma focused on turning his hearing nearly down to mute until a minute was called. It didn’t seem like Taka-san needed his participation in the conversation anyway. He scooted his chair slightly back to avoid getting hit by the ruler.

“Hello, Echizen-kun,” the brown haired guide sat across from him smoothly. He spoke with ease. Ryoma wondered why his eyes were closed. He might have asked his senior that very question, if his gaze wasn’t directed to the boobs some third year was drawing in his english notebook.

The brown haired guide was definitely directing him. Instead of the comforting ease an unbound Sentinel usually felt around a Guide, Ryoma felt pushed onto the tips of his toes.

“Who are you?” Ryoma asked.

The guide answered, but the voices in the hallway overpowered his soft voice. It was the senior’s turn to ask a question.

“Do you like tennis, Echizen-kun?” the guide smiled blankly at him. Ryoma stared.

“Do you like tennis, senpai?” Ryoma turned the tables on him and focused in on his hearing. The guide laughed and directed all of that powerful, amplified hearing to the girl’s bathroom next door. Mada mada dane.

By the time the timer went off, Ryoma’s breathing came just a bit heavier. He was almost grateful for his next partner, who went on about Bump of Chicken before he could even ask a question. Ryoma looked to the end of the classroom to see who would be coming up. His catlike eyes blinked with disbelief to see Captain Tezuka walking to the front of the classroom. It dawned on him. Last time, Ryoma picked up his addictive scent the very moment he entered the courts.

How could he be so close and not allow Ryoma to pick up his scent? It was wrong. Being near Tezuka provoked no feelings whatsoever. Even though Tezuka still wore his regulation gloves, Ryoma could not sense him as a Guide.

“Good afternoon,” Tezuka greeted. “How are you?” his english was slightly accented, but textbook.

“Do you like tennis?” Ryoma blurted out. His eyes narrowed as he sought to understand the mystery before him. Tezuka’s cool, eyes found Ryoma’s. At first, Ryoma thought them to be brown. They were green upon closer inspection, with more spikes of color the longer he looked.

“I like tennis,” Tezuka answered with no hesitation. “Tennis is my favorite sport.”

Those words pulled free a knot in Ryoma’s chest. “Me too,” Ryoma agreed. “I like tennis.”

9.

Ryoma ignored the niggle of anger he felt on seeing Kachiro with a black eye. It was the biologically programmed reaction for a Sentinel to have in response to an injured guide. Mada mada dane.

Horio, Katsuo, and Kachiro huddled around the camera and quivered at the sight of digital Kaidou. Rather than be privy to their antics, Echizen took his magazine and made for the tree near the tennis courts. No one else occupied the space; he sprawled back with the magazine over his face and let his ears chase the sound of tennis balls bouncing over the clay. The sound calmed him. He wouldn’t zone like the last time he met Kaidou. It was stupid that he nearly zoned in the first place. The sound had been so unexpected.

He had been too consumed by the sound of tennis balls to notice Sakuno on the other side of the tree.

“Ryoma-kun,” Sakuno spoke intently to the fluffy himalayan cat sitting in front of her. “Please try your best tomorrow!”

The wind drifted through, rustling the hair of both girl and cat.

“That sounded pathetic…” Sakuno despaired. “Okay, let’s try this again.” She stared at Karupin, conveying the full weight of her feelings when she yelled, “DO YOUR BEST, RYOMA-KUN!”

Ryoma sat up with a jolt. Had someone called his name?

10.

The morning was brighter than it had been yesterday. Spring had come into full force, and the days were getting longer to celebrate. Just as they had in winter, his feet articulated the pace of his body with little thumps on the pavement. Somehow, it sounded more inviting in the mild weather. Summer would be the opposite extreme.

It seemed like a morning like any other, except Kaidou knew that it wasn’t ordinary.

He finished his requisite ten kilometers and approached the house. Seeing Hazue waiting outside, geared up in his trainers and running shorts, was all it took for him to decide on a victory lap. Kaidou slowed enough for shorter legs to fall into pace beside his own. Hazue counted his breathing, just like Kaoru taught him. Kaoru didn’t need any special, enhanced hearing to notice it.

Kaidou Kaoru was the only normal, completely unenhanced human member of the Seigaku Regulars. Today, that status would be put to the test against one of the most arrogant, cocky little Sentinels that Kaoru ever had the misfortune of meeting. A match Kaoru could not afford to lose, would not permit himself to lose.

“Brother…” Hazue panted. His hair, dark and straight like Kaoru’s, had matted with sweat. Unintentionally, Kaoru had picked up his stride, forcing Hazue’s legs into doubletime to keep up. Wordlessly, he slowed down. Hazue was getting stronger. A month ago, he would not have been able to cope with the increased pace as long as he did.

There was something special about being human. Not enough people recognized it. Strength came naturally to Sentinels. There was no work, no effort involved. Kaoru knew better. He was stronger, better, because his abilities came from his determination, not from his genetic makeup.

“Hazue,” Kaoru said, and picked his pace back up again. Hazue grunted and kept up.

Kaoru would never let his brother believe that his humanity meant that he was less.

11.

Kaidou’s loss was an excruciating thing to behold. The Guides, with the exception of Captain Tezuka, literally swooned under the weight of his agony. Sentinels winced at the sickening sound, stomach wrenching sight of him, driving his racket into the meat of his thigh over and over again, until the court splattered with blood. The very idea of such pain could be enough to send a Sentinel into a zone, but Kaidou buried himself in it to match the ache inside.

The humans of the team felt this loss most acutely. They worried. If Kaidou couldn’t hold onto his regular position, as normal humans, what chance did they really have? Even the strongest of the humans failed to defeat a freshman Sentinel.

“Nice game, senpai,” Ryoma adjusted his hat and approached the net, even though he knew the gesture would not be welcome.

Kaidou sneered at him and stomped out of the courts. No one reprimanded him for leaving practice early. Tezuka felt reasonably certain that whatever training Kaidou inflicted on himself would pale to watching the rest of the day’s matches. It was a painful, necessary lesson for Kaidou, and he needed the time to grow from it.

“Inui,” Oishi called to the Sentinel, buried in his notebook. “You and Echizen are up next.”

Looking up gleefully from his notes, Inui pushed his glasses up his nose. “The data is complete,” the match with Kaidou provided him with some highly interesting information. Of course, tennis data was volatile; it wouldn’t be fun otherwise!

Ryoma tightened his lips. Normally, he looked forward to a rough match, but the feel of this Sentinel was just off. He didn’t like Inui’s eyes on him.

Inui stood across the net. Everyone observed that he was nearly two Echizen’s tall.

Playing Inui was completely different than playing Kaidou, with one major exception: both of their games incorporated an overarching scheme, for which the opponent’s game had to be taken, considered, one point at a time. That was their tennis. The whole of it that Ryoma had observed.

The snag – both of those schemes depended on being more prepared than their opponent. Kaidou had banked on being in better condition than Echizen. Now, here was Inui betting that he knew Echizen’s game even better than Echizen himself. It wasn’t an unfair estimation. Inui’s exacting senses captured a perfect picture of the tennis he witnessed so far. But too many unknown factors lurked beyond the edges of the picture’s frame. Inui had yet to see the whole of his tennis.

Mada mada dane.

“I had been hoping to save this for nationals,” Ryoma said with a grin on his face. There was no disapointment. Not when he could poke a sharp pin into Inui’s strategy and deflate it like a sad party balloon.

Ryoma could play a meticulous game fighting point by point, he demonstrated as such with Kaidou by using his own strategy against him, but setting off a bomb in the middle of the court was just so much more satisfying.

The broad, chilling smile Inui wore in the wake of defeat was less satisfying. He didn’t look defeated at all. Ryoma wrinkled his nose and watched Inui leave while murmuring to himself, bouncing in a dreadful replication of his split step all the way back to the clubhouse.

“What annoying tennis,” Ryoma grunted as he put away his racket, leaving his senpai to pick their own jaws up off the court. Horio, Katsuo, and Kachiro flocked to him to recap the match in their own dramatic fashion.

Just beyond the fence, Oishi conspired with Tezuka. “Tezuka, did he say nationals?”

“Aa,” Tezuka affirmed, watching Ryoma’s lines. Outside of the court, Ryoma moved efficiently. But laziness, rather than productivity, lined that efficiency. The suppressants held Tezuka’s powers back from reaching into the young Sentinel’s mind and scolding him from the inside out. Echizen hadn’t neglected his rackets, but the rest of his things fell in pitiable disorder.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it, Kunimitsu?” Fuji stood at Tezuka’s side. Nobody expected Tezuka to answer the question, so he didn’t; just as he didn’t correct Fuji’s use of his first name. That was exactly what the genius wanted.

Tezuka looked at Fuji, wondering if he had peered into Ryoma’s mind, and if so, to what extent. Oishi surprised him by revealing that he had been unable to read Echizen, for the most part. What unbonded Sentinel could shield himself from a bonded Guide? For all he courted Kawamura, Fuji remained unbonded. But Fuji was more ruthless than Oishi. Where Oishi would sit at the edge of the shield and wait patiently to let in, Fuji blew a self sized hole and made himself comfortable, unless he preferred to go unnoticed. Catching Tezuka’s stare, Fuji smiled up at him. Even with his suppressants, Tezuka caught the words Fuji projected his way.

And he was right. It was not yet time. Tezuka would make his own time, if necessary. He had to find out if Ryoma’s potential would springboard them to nationals, or implode them before they even got to the prefectural tournament. From where they stood, it was hard to see if this unexpected challenge flag would splinter the strength he fought to build.

“Aah, Sumire-chan, you’re looking lovely today,” Fuji released Tezuka to all but lash himself to their coach’s side. “Is that a new jumpsuit,” he reached out to touch her. He wore his regulation gloves in his pockets instead of on his hand.

Ryuuzaki Sumire was an older Sentinel, but she still knew what was up. “Fuji-kun,” she stepped neatly away. “It’s Ryuuzaki-sensei.”

“You can call me Syuusuke,” Fuji smiled, obeying the teacher’s physical boundaries for the time being. “I understand, you want to wait until after I graduate.”

“I want no such thing!” Sumire glowered, and Fuji continued to smile placidly. “Put your gloves back on!”

Ryoma walked past him with the other freshman. Momoshiro had an arm draped casually over a few of the younger boys and was insisting that they call him Momo-chan. From their address forms, Tezuka knew they all lived in the same direction. So did he, but there was still work to be done.

Tezuka turned his back. He needed some quiet to draft the results so far and schedule the remaining matches. The ranking matches consumed him so completely that he didn’t notice the himalayan cat until it meowed plaintively at his feet. His big blue eyes searched for something. The cat pawed Tezuka’s legs and meowed again.

The crane was gone.

Drawing a great breath, Tezuka ignored the cat climbing up on him and focused all of his efforts onto the work before him.

 

 

A/N So between school and work, I haven't been able to maintain the kind of update schedule I would like to (I do post longer chapters less frequently here on AO3 as opposed to shorter, more frequently on ff.net). Most likely a ficlet in this verse about some characters in a different school will come before another chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N = Constructive criticism is welcome. I intend to update this every week.


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